A Very Hard Day
by LosGatos
Summary: London has gone quiet. With nothing to do but mope around 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes has asked John Watson to teach him how to relax. John is understandably worried.
1. Chapter 1: It's All Gravy

Sherlock sat on his chair. He hated being not having a case. Hated it with a passion. He would literally take any case in the world right now. He would solve the murder of the Pied Piper, who went missing in wonderland, and was eventually found to have been killed by the wonderful Wizard of Oz. That was just a little item he had formulated in his mind, though. Something to keep him occupied. This scenario was highly illogical. Perhaps that was what made it interesting.

John lay in bed. Tock follows tick follows tock follows tick and so on. 11:33 AM and Sherlock was still silent. It scared John. Scared him more than being woken up at seven by that bloody violin. Sherlock was supposed to be shuffling around, or asking Mrs. Hudson to take out the rubbish, or anything else. The point was that he was supposed to be making noise. Such a thing was not happening. John decided it was time to get up.

John shuffled through to the living room. There sat the famous Mr Holmes, staring out the window. Not making a sound. He thought it best not to provoke him. After all, this peace may last. John went to the kitchen for breakfast, before realising he wasn't hungry. Maybe he was catching up to this high-energy lifestyle.

He sat down at his computer for the morning's news. He clicked on Sky News. "….And further gang violence in the capital, as former rapper MC Romeo was shot in central London in the early hours of this morning….." Droned the video. "Meaningless," thought john. He was bored. By his standards, London was quiet.

"Shot six times in the chest." Sherlock said, almost imperceptibly. "What was that?" asked John. "MC Romeo was shot six times in the chest by a Hackney gang member in retaliation for Romeo having stolen a stereo from Dixons, in Croydon. The gang member had his eye on that stereo for a while. But now, having killed Romeo, the gang member has learned that the stereo has been sold to a local fence who refuses to give it up. The fence is his next target."

John was unmoved. "I suppose your homeless network told you that?" he asked. "Indeed." Came the reply. "So what next, then? Ladytron beheaded live on stage by Islamic fundamentalists?" Sherlock stood up and grabbed John by the shoulders. "I need, John. I need a case, a challenge, some sort of exercise for my mental capabilities." He said quite urgently. "Maybe we could just take a break?" Asked John. But Sherlock's grim expression told him otherwise. "Nonsense!" Snapped Sherlock. "I have great mental facilities. Said facilities should not go to waste milling around the home, looking for things to do. They should be out in the thick of it, exposing who did what and why and when and where and how and….. Oh, god. What have I come to?"

John was mystified. He thought he would reassure Sherlock of his abilities. "Relax. Probably nothing important has happened because criminals across England and far beyond have realised that the great Sherlock Holmes would catch them. You must be like a grim reaper to them." Those were all the words he could muster, and in retrospect, they seemed quite clumsy. Fortunately, Sherlock didn't seem to pay attention.

"Teach me." Blurted Sherlock. "Teach you? Teach you what?" This day kept getting more surreal for John.

"Teach me how to…." The word struggled out of his mouth. "Re... Re... Relax." John bust out laughing. "How to relax? Teach Sherlock Holmes how to relax? Oh dear. I believe this day will be horrifying beyond belief…."


	2. Chapter 2: Cheeseburgers and Clubland

11:51 AM

John was flabbergasted. "Teach you? I can't… It's…."

"Unorthodox? Unusual? My mind is fragmenting, John, You must help." Snapped Sherlock. "Well…. Alright, then. Who knows, we might both learn something from this." But John was not hopeful. "I suppose the first thing, Sherlock, Is really to….."

"Mr Watson! I have a question, sir!" This couldn't be real. This was not just happening. But John figured he could have some fun as well.

"Holmes! You_ will_ pay attention to me when I'm speaking!" This was obviously not the answer Sherlock was hoping for. "Yes sir." He sunk back into his chair, defeated. "Anyway, as I was saying, the first key point for any slob is what he or she sustains themself on. Food is the key here."

"I don't eat much, you know that." Answered the pupil. "Today you do. There are some microwave cheeseburgers in the fridge. And as it is approaching noon, otherwise known as lunchtime, these will be the first key ingredients to our afternoon of sloth." The teacher was beginning to enjoy himself.

"So," began Sherlock as they ate. "These microwaveable foods are prepared in incredibly short times, and yet they are eaten by people who have plenty of time on their hands. The contrast is almost tragic." John almost inquired further, but his good friend Better Judgement kicked in first, making him change the subject.

"What do you think of the food?" He asked. "Adequate." Replied Sherlock. "Well at least he's occupied," John said to himself. "If he wasn't, he'd be contemplating suicide. And I don't think I could stay awake through that."

Just then, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it." John announced. John was gone for a minute, before coming back up. "No one there. Bloody yobs…." But he was cut off by a sound from within the flat. Then came Sherlock's voice, surprisingly spritely. "John!" He yelled cheerfully. "Whatever is this wonderful noise?"

John was intrigued. Had Sherlock discovered the wonders of television? As he entered the flat, it became obvious that he hadn't. "Sherlock, that's….." "Brilliant, isn't it? Such a wonderful amalgamation of sound and colour…." "It's Clubland TV, Sherlock. Not exactly wonderful, may I argue. And I'm sure the station's target audience aren't the sort of people who use words like amalgamation."

"There's a sort of monstrous beauty to it, don't you think? In this music that many would consider chaotic, these people can appreciate it and find order." So there lay Sherlock Holmes, the famous consulting detective. Sprawled across the sofa, reduced to a pikey by a flurry of flashing lights and pounding rhythms. An intelligent pikey, But a pikey nonetheless.

"Now, Sherlock, you will discover the wonders of daytime TV." Said John, with just a hint of melodrama. "Dragon's Den, Trawlermen, Home bloody shopping…. It's all rubbish!"

"And that, my friend, is the wonderful world of daytime TV.


	3. Chapter 3: 2 X 10 Plus 1 Romeo Dunn

15:55 PM

John was now crapping it. Sherlock had watched daytime British television for the past 2 hours and had not, in that time, reached for the violin, the nicotine patches, or the nearest big bloody knife to drive straight through the skull of the man who talked him into wasting his day at home.

It was for Sherlock's own good, to be honest. With no crimes to solve, he would end up going out and creating crimes of his own, just so he could solve them to prove how great he is. Bloody show-off.

But the silence was eerie. Sherlock was watching Seaside Rescue now. Quite possibly the only thing more boring than spending an eternity in hell watching Countdown…. "Oh my god." Thought John. I can't let him see Countdown. If that happens then-" "Consonant! Consonant! Take the bloody vowel, you old idiot!"  
>Too late.<p>

And yet, John had to feel somewhat proud of himself. He reduced Sherlock to shouting at the TV in just a few hours, even if it did feel like an eternity. At the very least, he could tell Mycroft he had his little brother under control. For a bureaucrat, he was quite humanist. To a degree.

John decided this would be an ideal time to update his blog. Let's think of a title then…. "_Docile Detective Solves Case Of Missing Vowel?" "Sherlock Homebound?" _But then he realised something. Sherlock was human. He didn't always want to let on, but still, only human. It would be wrong to make such a fuss out of Sherlock being what he was. What he was was normal. At least until a case came up, then he would be his usual smartarse self again. He decided to instead make a statement on his blog about the lack of cases, along with Sherlock's solving of the MC Romeo case. Snappy title? Oh let's see now…. How about "Romeo Dunn?" Yeah. The 2 or 3 people who get that will be laughing their arses off at that one.


	4. Chapter 4: The Chip Shop Escapade

16:30 PM

John felt it time to switch it up a little. No doubt that each and every second Sherlock sat there, his brain cells were burning away faster and faster. Burning brain cells. Stupidity. John took shelter in his own mind.

Burning brain cells. Burning brain cells. He wondered how many he had burned repeating that. It was such a funny phrase, that. And what burned those grey devils like reality television? "Sherlock should have his own show," John thought. "Yeah, it would be like… Dragon's Den, or as those Americans called it, Shark Tank. Only with a lot more murder. And smartarsery."

Over the next ten minutes, John formulated a show in which various indistinguishable Z-list celebs came to Sherlock with a well thought out plan for some sort of criminal act. Every episode would have a different theme, for example Double Homicide, or Armed Robbery. Sherlock would then proceed to berate them until they broke down into tears/Committed suicide on national TV. It could work. Well, if the commissioning editor was a bit Bored/Drunk/Smashed in the face with a cricket bat. And it would probably air on some no-name digital channel. But with any luck, they would get the same slot as the Jeremy Kyle show. To wake up the elderly, and give them something to complain about.

What was John saying? Had he gone totally mad? "A drink," He thought. "That's what I need." The fridge was empty of drink. Damnit. He would have to buy some. "Sherlock?" Ah. Sleeping. Sherlock. At this time of the day. John began to wonder if all this lying around was a horrible idea. Oh well. He would be fine by himself. At least for a few minutes, at least.

John had returned 10 minutes later. "John." Came a voice from the living room. "Do we have a case?" The tone was strange. It was like he needed a yes, but wanted a no. "Well, we have a case, but I'm not entirely sure it's the sort you want." "Whatever do you mean?" Asked Sherlock.  
>"One case of Carlsberg. Two bottles of Bacardi Breezer, and a nondescript grey bottle I picked up at the counter 'cause I thought it looked funny. "Well then, Shall we get started?"<p>

19:50 PM

"Brring, brring," Came the noise at the other end of the phone. A cockney-sounding man answered. "Bill's Grill, can I help you?"

"Yeah," The men were laughing. "We'll have 8 portions of chips, 5 Quarter Pounders, 20 Battered mushrooms, and 8 Kiddies sausage meals. 221B Baker Street, please. And make sure you don't totally mess it up."

20:00 PM

The doorbell rang. "Shit!" Laughed John. "I didn't think they'd take us seriously! Have you got any money?"

"One-hundred and thirty six pounds, please." John was still carrying the 5 bags up the stairs. Sherlock produced the money without enthusiasm. "Hold on!" He slurred. "If any of this money is used for purposes illegal, illicit or generally sinister, I shall know and I shall have your head!" The man had probably seen enough of this for his week and simply got into his car and drove away. Quite quickly, I might add.

"How the bloody hell are we supposed to eat all this? It'll take us ages!" "Relax." Said John. "I spotted something when I was out there. Come to the window and see."

What they saw was a recently opened Movie rental shop, right across the street.


	5. Chapter 5: Absinthe Reloaded

21:30 PM

"He's lying to himself," Slurred a very drunk Sherlock through a mouthful of sausage. "There wash nevur any shpoon to begin with." He said, choking down the mashed pig.  
>"What are you on about?" Asked John.<p>

"The spoon represents innocence, my dear Watson. This man, our hero with a thousand faces, must realise that until he shakes off the childhood value of innocence, his abilities will be limited by his mind." John was confused. "Sherlock, I think you're missing the point. It's The Matrix. It's just some action story with a philo… A phila… Philosophical layer on it. And that's mostly to do with the bible." Our bloated blogger was munching on his third bag of chips.

"That's what they want you to think! They created a thought-provoking story to mask the true meaning of the tale! It's all about a grown man who spends his days searching for his ruined childhood….

22:00 PM

"…And he realises that he has to confront the force that has tormented him all his life in order to get on with the business of being a man. In this case, represented by the character of Agent Smith."  
>"Oh yeah?" Challenged John. "Well, If that's true, Then what about the machines? The dream world? Zion?<br>"Eh?" Sherlock seemed confused. "You know," Said John. "The whole bloody premise of the movie?"  
>"Sorry, I mustn't have been paying attention to that bit."<p>

22:30 PM

1 Bag of chips. 2 Quarter pounders. 9 Battered mushrooms and a sausage. It was a Rocky training montage from hell. They would have to clean it up, eventually. Eventually. John hated that word. It was a constant reminder of death, of pain, and worst of all, cleaning the flat after a long night of binging. He opened the grey bottle and took a giant swig from it. He then realised he had made a horrible mistake. He now saw why the counter guy treated that bottle as shady. It wasn't grey, that was dust. John swept the dust away. The bottle was, in actual fact, green. John read the label. It said "Absinthe."  
>"Oh Bugger."<p>

07:22 AM

Daylight was breaking. The inhabitants of 221B Baker Street were asleep, and planned to happily remain so for the next several years. Such was not to be, thanks to the appearance of one Mycroft Holmes. His entering the room removed John from his deep sleep and into the worst hangover never recorded. "Shit! Mycroft! Look, I was just taking care of him but one thing led to another and-"

"Save it, Watson. I don't want to hear it. Possibly you'd be more concerned about the fact that this place has been burgled? And what about you, Sherlock? Do you care?" "Go away, brother." He moaned. "Leave me be."

"There is no time for such a thing. Come over here and read this." Mycroft said urgently.  
>"I can't get up." Answered Sherlock.<p>

"Well maybe this will stir you into action!" Shouted Mycroft, thrusting the newspaper at Sherlock. John felt as though his brains had packed their bags and were leaving through his ears. Sherlock Read the front page.

_**ROBBERS IN LOW BUDGET ESCAPADE**_

_The London Townsend robbers are the latest group of cat_ _burglars to terrorize the city. Ever so keen to boast, the gang leaves notes at the houses they raid detailing just how little they needed to rob the place. Their latest target is 221B Baker Street, home of London's famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. The note left detailed a tiny sum of £136 was used to rob the flat. It is thought that this money originated from one of the many front operations the gang owns, which include chip shops, brothels, and nightclubs. Police say nothing was taken from the flat._

"Chip Shop." Groaned Sherlock. "I bloody knew it."

TO BE CONTINUED IN "THE ADVENTURE OF THE INVISIBLE BODYBUILDER", COMING SOON


End file.
